


Drunk in Love

by sigh_no_more



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 04:35:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5614123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigh_no_more/pseuds/sigh_no_more
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As usual, Grantaire was in a Situation, and it was his own damn fault.<br/>He had good intentions. Well, his intention was for everyone to have fun. They were at the office holiday party. and he, Joly, and Bossuet took it upon themselves to spike the punch. Perhaps they should have measured the alcohol before they poured it into the punch bowl, but they were so focused on not getting caught, they didn’t have time for such precautions. </p><p>Or: Enjolras drinks the spiked holiday punch and is transformed into an affectionate drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk in Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merelydovely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelydovely/gifts).



> For my fic giveaway. 
> 
> [Starfieldcanvas](http://starfieldcanvas.tumblr.com) asked for: At the company party, somebody spikes the punch, and Enjolras gets SMASHED. ExR if you want, but could be hilarious as gen too.
> 
> I decided to do a little bit of both.

As usual, Grantaire was in a Situation, and it was his own damn fault.

He had good intentions. Well, his intention was for everyone to have fun. They were at the office holiday party. The “office” was the headquarters of Musain, the fledging online publication dedicated to the unbiased reporting of real news. Except it hardly felt like work, because it was staffed by the Amis, Grantaire’s closest friends from college. They were financed by Jean Valjean, Cosette’s father. He had a hands off approach to management, so when he wasn’t around, Enjolras was in charge.

And although every day at work felt more like a social gathering, it _was_ a place of business. Or so Enjolras kept reminding them. And so their holiday party would have to have some degree of decorum. They were after all _adults_ , Grantaire, and what’s more, they were _professionals_.

It sounded terribly boring to Grantaire, and not very holiday-ish. So he, Joly, and Bossuet took it upon themselves to spike the punch. Perhaps they should have measured the alcohol before they poured it into the punch bowl, but they were so focused on not getting caught, they didn’t have time for such precautions.

Most of their friends could hold their liquor, their livers hardened after years of drinking at the Corinth. Enjolras however could not. He could get drunk after half a beer. After two cups of the special punch…

“Bahorel, you’re like the lightning man. The lightning man in those colorful movies Courfeyrac makes us watch,” Enjolras said, his hand on Bahorel’s bicep.

“…do you mean Thor from _The Avengers_?”

“Yes, him,” Enjolras said. “You’re so strong, but also good-humored and brave and good. Don’t change.”

“I won’t,” Bahorel chuckled.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Enjolras said seriously. “And if you have a brother who is mean to you like the lightning man did, you call me. Call me on my phone. Or email. Or just come find me.”

“Will do, little man.”

Enjolras beamed dopily at Bahorel as he stumbled away in search of someone else to fawn over. Because Enjolras was an affectionate drunk. He usually chose one friend whose lap he would crawl onto and whose virtues he would wax lyrical about all night. But tonight, he seemed more drunk than he had ever been before, and as a consequence, he seemed more affectionate than usual.  

“We’re so dead tomorrow,” Joly whispered, squeezing on the couch next to Grantaire.

“No we’re not,” Bossuet said confidently, sitting on Grantaire’s other side.

“You really think Enjolras will forgive us?” Joly said hopefully.

“Absolutely not. I just think he’s going to have a massive hangover tomorrow and will be incapable of harming anyone. But we’re definitely dead day after tomorrow.”

“Well that’s one extra day,” Joly said, toasting Bossuet’s cup.

They watched Enjolras corner poor Jehan.

“Jean Jehan Prouvaire!” Enjolras cried. “How are you my morbid poet friend?”

“Hi Enjolras,” Jehan said. “Let’s find you somewhere to sit down, okay?”

“No, I want to give you a poem, because _you_ are a poem,” Enjolras said. “So:

 

Jehan  
You are fun  
You like weird stuff but that’s okay  
Because you brighten up every day  
  
You are very smart  
You are like walking art  
You are brave and loyal  
And-

Enjolras stopped abruptly. “What rhymes with loyal?”

“No idea,” Jehan said, patting Enjolras’s arm reassuringly.

Tears filled Enjolras’s eyes. “I have to find out!”

“No, it’s okay. That was a lovely poem,” Jehan said.

“You deserve a finished poem!” he insisted, the tears threatening to spill over.

Jehan looked panicked, because no one had ever actually seen Enjolras cry. Well, maybe Combeferre or Courfeyrac had, but it’s not like they ever told anyone about it. Jehan gave Enjolras a quick hug.

“You just did give me a finished poem!”

Enjolras blinked. “I did?”

“Yes. Yes you did. Just now. And it was lovely. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh. Yes. Yes I remember,” Enjolras said, swaying slightly.

Jehan lowered him on an empty couch across from where Grantaire was seated. “I’ll get you some water.”

Joly and Bossuet cackled as they watched Jehan mouth, “Help!” to Combeferre, who was already approaching his drunk friend with a large bottle of water.

“How’s it going, Ange?”

“Combeferre!” Enjolras exclaimed, throwing himself at his friend. In a matter of seconds, he was wrapped around Combeferre like a koala bear. He paused, then whispered. “The room is spinning, Combeferre.”

“Had a little too much, huh?” Combeferre ran his fingers soothingly.

“Of course not. There is no alcohol here. I’m just drunk on the spirit of FRIENDSHIP.”

Combeferre cast a reproving look at the trio of men in front of him. “Right. No alcohol. Because if anyone brought in alcohol, they would be reprimanded. Severely. By me personally.”

Joly gulped. Enjolras followed Combeferre’s gaze and lit up.

“Hey guys!” he said, releasing Combeferre from his clutches and bounding over so he could better sprawl across Joly, Bossuet, and Grantaire’s laps. He ended up with his head under Joly’s. He reached up, and started stroking Joly’s cheek as if he were a cat or something. “Jooolllllllly. Joly means pretty. And you’re super pretty! You’re beautiful and a credit to the medical field.”

Combeferre bit back a laugh. “You all keep an eye on him. I’m getting Courfeyrac so I can get his car keys.”

“I’ll help look!” Grantaire said, somehow extricating himself from under Enjolras’s midsection. Enjolras was being extra affectionate with the people he cared about, but Grantaire couldn’t imagine Enjolras would have anything nice to say to him. What if he was extra harsh to people he didn’t like? Grantaire didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Enjolras’s scorn if that were the case. He didn’t think Enjolras would be intentionally cruel, but, well…his, Joly and Bossuet’s cocktail was a very effective truth serum. So if Enjolras _did_ say something that ended up crushing Grantaire, Grantaire would really have no one but himself to blame. But he never had been good at accepting punishment for his misdeeds. He cast one last look as Enjolras sat up and embraced Bossuet with a crushing hug. Grantaire shook his head. He needed more punch.

“Nope. You’re helping me,” Combeferre said, grabbing his arm.

“We’d cover more ground if we split up.”

“This isn’t a big office, so we’ll find Courfeyrac soon enough, and I don’t trust you by yourself.”

“Rude,” Grantaire grumbled.

“You are 1/3 responsible for Enjolras’s current state.”

“Okay, that’s fair.”

They eventually cornered Courfeyrac as he was coming back from the bathroom.

“Enjolras is drunk,” Combeferre said.

Courfeyrac sighed. “Let me get my keys.”

They went back to the main room and groaned simultaneously. Because Enjolras was standing in the middle of the floor, dancing wildly. Well, dancing was a kind way of describing it. He was mostly flailing his arms and jumping around. But at least he was smiling. And before they could stop him, he spotted Cosette.

“Cosette!” he shouted. “Dance with me.”

 “This isn’t really dance music,” Cosette said.

“ _Anything_ is dance music if you try hard enough,” Enjolras said, extending his hand.

And Cosette, angel that she was, took it. She put her free hand on his shoulder, and swayed them back and forth, calming him down.

“Nooo,” Courfeyrac said. “The dance party was just getting started!”

Enjolras perked up at the sound of his friend’s voice. “Courf!” he shouted. He turned to Cosette. “Thank you for the dance. You’re beautiful and Marius is lucky to have you and you are lucky to have him.”

Cosette sighed as Enjolras lunged for Courfeyrac next. “I tried.”

“Thank you, Cosette,” Combeferre said, sounding weary already.

“Courfeyrac, your hair is as big as your heart,” Enjolras said. His arms were wrapped around Courfeyrac tightly, but he still managed to somehow play with the ends of Courfeyrac’s curls.

“Thanks, bud,” Courfeyrac said, trying to extricate himself.

“You’re one of my very best friends and I love you so much,” Enjolras said.

Oh no. There came the tears again.

“I love you too,” Courfeyrac said, giving Enjolras a quick peck on the forehead.

“ _So much_ ,” Enjolras repeated.

“Can you do me a favor?” Courfeyrac asked. Enjolras nodded eagerly. “Let’s go for a ride.”

It was remarkable how Enjolras could look like a stoic statue one minute, then a petulant toddler another.

“Noooo,” he said, trying to pull away from Courfeyrac. Unfortunately for him, Courfeyrac had a strong grip, and wasn’t going to let go easily. “You’re trying to get me to leave the party. And I want to dance more!”

“You can dance in the car,” Courfeyrac said soothingly.

“Nooooooooo,” Enjolras said, his feet sliding on the ground as he struggled to get away. “I want to party more!”

“I’m getting that on a t-shirt,” Grantaire muttered.

“Help! He’s trying to take away my basic right to PARTY!”

“That’s a better quote for the t-shirt,” Combeferre replied quietly.

They both watched as Courfeyrac wrestled Enjolras onto the couch. Enjolras slid off it, in some bizarre attempt to…slither away? It didn’t matter because Courfeyrac honest to god sat on him.

“Traitor!” Enjolras shouted. “You’re a traitor. My own best friend a traitor! I can’t believe this! I’ll report you! I’m going to write an expose on you, just you wait, you-”

He stopped abruptly. Grantaire inched forward.

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he just fell asleep,” Courfeyrac said, not getting up. “Someone better get Bahorel to carry him to my car.”

“Thank goodness he didn’t talk to Feuilly,” Grantaire said jokingly.

“Oh, no, he did,” Feuilly said. He held up what looked like a crumpled napkin. “He tried to make me an origami flower and called me the moral backbone of the world. It was sweet, actually.”

Bahorel appeared, and gently lifted Enjolras. The Amis all grabbed their scarves and followed them out, to see off their fallen leader. Most of them were fairly drunk themselves, but at least they were still upright and conscious.

“Can someone drive?” Courfeyrac asked, holding up his keys.

“I can,” Combeferre said.

“So can I,” Grantaire said. Combeferre looked surprised. “I only had half a cup of that punch and that was a few hours ago.”

“Can you take care of him by yourself?” Combeferre asked.

“Yeah. Like you said, I’m 1/3 responsible for the state he’s in. The least I can do is get him home safely and look after him. Besides, I’m sure you have plans tonight. It’s only fair.”

“Well…” Combeferre glanced at Courfeyrac, who nodded.

“Let him. He always takes good care of me when I’m drunk. And he knows the best hangover cures.”

“Okay,” Combeferre said. “Give me a call if you need anything?”

“Of course,” Grantaire said. He gave the assembled Amis a slightly awkward wave as he got in the driver’s seat and shut the door. He watched them in the rear view mirror as they all stumbled back into the office to continue the party. Behind him, Enjolras stirred.

“Am I being kidnapped?” he mumbled.

“Why would I kidnap you?” Grantaire asked.

“Grantaire!” Enjolras said, his face lighting up. He threw his arms around Grantaire, causing him to swerve a little.

“Hey!” Grantaire said. “Watch it. I’m driving.”

“Back to the party?”

“No, I’m taking you home.

“Noooo,” Enjolras moaned, and he clamored into the passenger seat. For being so drunk, he was surprisingly agile. “I don’t want to go home. Please don’t make me.”

He turned his eyes pleadingly to Grantaire, and fuck, he was not used to dealing with this. Sober Enjolras just demanded things, and when that didn’t work, fought for them. But sad, drunk Enjolras was _adorable_ and helpless.

“Nope, nope, nope,” Grantaire said, forcing his attention back to the road. “Tell me your address.”

“No,” Enjolras said, flopping back in the chair, seeing that his puppy eyes didn’t work.

“Seriously, I’ve only been there like twice, and I can’t remember where it is.”

Now Enjolras had given up on human language all together, and was making sad little pouting noises, and covering his face with his hands, so Grantaire made the executive decision to take Enjolras back to his apartment. He had to practically pour Enjolras out of the car, then carry him up the stairs, all while Enjolras giggled to himself.

When they got inside, Grantaire gently placed Enjolras on the sofa. It took a good 10 minutes for him to get off Enjolras’s outerwear and shoes, because he kept giggling and squirming away. Finally, _finally_ , Grantaire managed to get Enjolras on the sofa, ready for bed, when Enjolras grabbed his hand.

“Stay with me.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Grantaire said firmly.

“Please?” Enjolras said, giving his hand a little tug.

Grantaire sighed. He never was very good at saying no to Enjolras. He had used up his quota of nos for the night. “Just for a little bit.”

Enjolras beamed, then snuggled up against his side. “Good. You’re a comfy pillow. And you smell nice.”

“No I don’t,” Grantaire scoffed.

“Yes you do,” Enjolras insisted. “Because you smell like you. And you’re so smart, and funny. And sometimes you’re annoying, I still like you. You’re kind, even though you don’t want people to know it. And you make me feel safe. And that’s what you smell like.”

Grantaire was at a complete loss of words. He managed to come up with, “None of those are smells, Enjolras.”

He got a huff in response. “I’m saying the way you smell makes me think of you, and _you_ are all those things, so you smell nice.” Enjolras said, jabbing a finger in Grantaire’s arm.

Enjolras must be drunker than Grantaire realized, because now he was spouting complete nonsense. Somehow, hearing Enjolras say these things about him was crueler than if Enjolras just listed things he didn’t like. It was the sort of thing he wished to hear for years and years. But it wasn’t real.

“Let me get you some water,” he said.

Enjolras frowned at this. Gone was the dopey, laughing Enjolras from just a minute ago. Suddenly, he seemed serious. “Don’t go,” he said. “I’m about to fall asleep, and I think, when I wake up, my head is going to feel less fuzzy. And we’ll go back to the way we usually are. I hate that. Can we just stay like this for as long as we can?”

Grantaire stilled at this. “Sure, Enjolras.”

It wasn’t taking advantage, was it? To hold a friend? Granted, a friend he was completely head over heels in love with, but there was nothing romantic about this situation. Enjolras was pressed against him, but he was covered from the neck down in fluffy blankets.

So Grantaire stayed until he felt Enjolras drift off to sleep. Once he felt him relax, he eased himself off the couch, left some aspirins and water on the coffee table, then went into his room and closed the door. He didn’t fall asleep for a very long time. His head was too loud with the echoes of Enjolras’s words. _We’ll go back to the way we usually are. I hate that_. 

He woke up to the sound of running water in his bathroom. So Enjolras was up then. Grantaire groaned inwardly. He wasn’t ready to face Enjolras, but he had to make sure he was okay.

The water stopped. Grantaire forced himself out of bed. He found Enjolras back in the living room, drinking the glass of water with a grimace.

“How are you feeling?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras groaned. “Awful. And possibly more awful after you tell me how badly I embarrassed myself last night.”

“You weren’t that bad.”

It was impressive how ferocious of a glare Enjolras could send, even in his hungover state. “Don’t lie to me.”

“You just went around and told everyone how much you loved them.”

Enjolras tensed up. “ _Everyone_?”

“Well, I’m not sure if you ever got to Combeferre, but I’m sure you tell him how much you love him on an almost daily basis anyway so…” Grantaire’s attempt at a joke trailed off as the blood drained from Enjolras’s already pale face.

“So, I….” he gulped down the rest of his water. “What did I say to you, exactly?”

Great. They were going to do this already. And Grantaire didn’t even have his coffee yet.

“Well, I mean, you didn’t say much. You were too busy…cuddling me?”

Enjolras groaned again, and buried his face in his hands. “What else?”

“You said I smell nice? And you liked me, but you don’t like the way things are between us usually. That’s pretty much it.”

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Enjolras said, his head not surfacing from his hands.

Grantaire wasn’t sure if he should give him a reassuring pat on the back, or if that would make it worse.

“I am _so_ sorry,” Enjolras said, finally forcing himself to look up. “Truly. Thank you for taking care of me. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” Grantaire said quickly.

“I just can’t shut up when I’m drunk.”

“You can’t shut up when you’re not drunk either.”

“Sorry.” Enjolras said. The color was returning to his cheeks, and he was turning bright red.

“It’s fine. We all say things we don’t mean when we’re drunk.”

Enjolras looked at him incredulously. “You think I didn’t mean what I said?”

“Wait, did you?”

Enjolras nodded. “Yes. I do like you. In a, um, romantic sense. I mean obviously, I like you as a friend too, but I also like you in a more than friend way. And I don’t like how…distant we are with each other usually. I didn’t realize I had particularly strong feelings about the way you smell,” he said with an embarrassed shrug. “But I…uh. Well, I don’t take anything back.”

It wasn’t often that Enjolras stammered through sentence, but then again, it wasn’t often that Grantaire was stunned into silence.

“I should go.” Enjolras stood up. “Thank you, again.”

“Wait!” Grantaire jumped to his feet. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel embarrassed. I was just surprised. I was under the impression that you barely tolerated me. I would have considered myself lucky to just be considered your friend. I never would have dreamed of anything more.”

“So you don’t mind?” Enjolras asked cautiously.

“No, I don’t mind. I’m over the moon. I’d go shout it out from the rooftops, except you already have a headache,” Grantaire said with a small laugh. “Enjolras, I’ve been in love with you for years.”

“Years?” Enjolras echoed.

“Years. So, no, I don’t mind.”

“Oh. Well, good,” Enjolras gave him a tentative smile.

“So I guess it worked out for the best that we spiked the punch.”

Enjolras narrowed his eyes. “You were responsible for that?”

“Uh…”

“Well, I guess if you hadn’t, I might never have told you how I feel…”

“But?”

“But I feel really awful,” Enjolras said.

“I can make it up to you. I’ll get you some food, and you can rest here. I’ll take care of whatever hangover needs you have. I hear cuddles are particularly good at getting rid of them.”

Enjolras plopped back down on the couch, and tugged Grantaire down with him. “Well, I guess it _is_ the least you can do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I'm [here](http://babesatthebarricade.tumblr.com)


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